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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26415292">Do You Bring Peace</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Raidho/pseuds/Stormcalled'>Stormcalled (Raidho)</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>In Perfect Love and Perfect Trust [10]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Final Fantasy XIV</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Amaurot (Final Fantasy XIV), Amaurotine Warrior of Light (Final Fantasy XIV), Convocation, Funerary Rites, Gen, speculative worldbuilding in an existing setting</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-09-12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-09-12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 12:48:16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,897</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26415292</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Raidho/pseuds/Stormcalled</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Long before the final act turns to tragedy, the players take the stage.  One sun sets, another sun rises.</p><p>This is the story of the last Azem.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>In Perfect Love and Perfect Trust [10]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1435858</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>25</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Do You Bring Peace</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Thank you for joining me for this long-planned third mainline portion of the In Perfect Love and Perfect Trust cycle!  This will be an ongoing story much like <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/19982245/chapters/47307004">Fragments</a> and <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/20073757/chapters/47542129">Perfect</a>.  As with any work of this nature parts of this story may eventually be rendered AU or require revision.  Until such a time, please join me on this journey.  This first chapter is a bit short as it serves as something of a prologue, but you may want to give it a re-read when Perfect 21 comes out as they were originally intended to release together!</p><p>You can yell at me or find information about supporting me on <a href="https://twitter.com/AStormcalled">twitter</a>.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Death was unusual in ancient Amaurot--old age was unheard of, incurable illness rare, and violence rarest of all. Yet it was not completely unknown. No, then there would be no men like Hades with his affinity for the underworld, his sensitivity to souls that had passed and ability to see them ere they fled entirely. But there were men like Hades, and death so rare that when it occurred one was called upon to confirm that yes, the soul had departed, and there was no chance whatsoever of recovery or revival. Even recently rising to the seat of Emet-Selch had not absolved him of these duties, though others with the ability--like his dear friend Hythlodaeus--often performed in his stead. He had seen many more dead than the average Amaurotine--perhaps more than most people who walked this star, save those in regions where peace did not reign. No amount of familiarity with death could have prepared him, though, for joining his fellow Convocation members in walking from the aetheryte to the mausoleum in full mourning garb, utterly featureless black cloaks, alongside the bier of Azem.</p><p>She lay still and cold amidst a bed of flowers and silks, unmasked, hands crossed over her breast, one gripping her mask and the other the hilt of her golden sword, her mane of chestnut hair spilling all about her in soft waves. He had met her only once, at his inauguration, and never seen her maskless, and regretted it now; had he no face to go with her perhaps it would seem less personal. But that was the point, wasn’t it? To see her unmasked made her death more real--in death everyone must know her, moreso than they already had. It was a common practice, and the death of someone who seemed so much larger than life, like Azem, drove home why it was <em>essential</em>. She was as real, as fallible and as <em>human</em> as any of them. To see her face in solemn repose was the ultimate humbling experience.</p><p>“One last journey, old friend,” he heard Elidibus sigh from the head of the column--he only knew it was Elidibus because they had taken up their positions before flipping down the gauzy black hoods that covered their masks--and he remembered the tender way in which the Emissary had touched the flowers and tucked away a stray lock of hair. He did not know Elidibus well in his capacity as the Emissary, or any of the Convocation members for that matter, but his job put him in a position where he must be close to <em>everyone</em>--how dreadful this must be, not only to see a paragon of society laid low, not merely a co-worker, or the intrinsic sorrow of the nigh-immortal finding final rest, but a treasured friend. Hades spared himself a brief moment of distraction, letting his awareness drift… they were watching, and now he knew where from. Perhaps he would be mindful to spend a little more time with them, as his duties allowed. Perhaps he would be a bit less sour towards them and their teasing over his new station. They were both of them his whole world, after all, and he could not bear the thought of being the one to remove their masks for the last time.</p><p>Citizens lined the streets, standing witness. There were always onlookers during funerary processions, usually family and friends--and Hades supposed this was no different. Everyone had been friend to Azem in some way, whether they had known her personally or not. Word of her deeds inspired the young to greatness, put dreams of unity and the fire of hope in the heart of men. Now that he held more intimate knowledge of the Convocation it seemed that was half the point of her station: to serve as an inspiration, to motivate people to be better and aspire to greater heights.</p><p>They turned onto the avenue leading to the mausoleum, and here they faced the worst of it, the building looming over them at the end of a long promenade, and all along it her family, those closest to her--and <em>hundreds</em> of strangers, people from the lands outside Amaurot. Many of them stood unmasked, some crowned, some in beggarly rags, some armed and saluting as she passed. One small group, near the very end, began to <em>sing</em>, their voices ringing eerily through the hard angles of the city. It only increased the impact of their mournful dirge, what should’ve been a melodic farewell rendered eerie and likely foreign to their own ears by the environs of Azem’s homeland.</p><p>Finally the bier came to rest before the doors of the mausoleum, and they turned to face those gathered. Mourners filled the courtyard, spilled out into the streets, and if he tilted his head back just enough he saw robes and masks lining every balcony on the nearest buildings. They all remained at the bier’s sides in silent vigil, save Lahabrea, who drew close to Elidibus and murmured something--Hades heard only the sound of his voice, not his words. He felt one single, mournful spike of unguarded emotion from Elidibus, raw and sharp, as the man nodded--but his head remained bowed, gazing down at the bare face of the woman on the bier. It struck Hades in that moment that he did not even know her <em>name</em>--she was merely Azem. Lahabrea reached up and squeezed Elidibus' shoulder, then mounted the stairs before the mausoleum and turned to face the gathered masses.</p><p>“Friends, were are here today to mark the passing of a giant among us, the guiding star by which many of us have charted our courses, the light which has illuminated our path--”</p>
<hr/><p>He found them on a nearby rooftop, sitting precariously at the edge, feet dangling, masks in hand. When he stepped out of the lift Hythlodaeus turned, long hair flipping over his shoulder, and greeted him with a warm smile that didn’t quite reach his blue eyes--not so strange, considering the solemn occasion. The young man next to Hythlodaeus didn’t so much as flinch, utterly fixated on the proceedings below, the rich red hair tumbling to his shoulders shifting in the breeze. The late afternoon light turned Hythlodaeus’ pale complexion peachy, and his companion’s tan golden. Hades yet wore his official mourning robes, but he’d flipped the hood back, and he removed his mask of office as he approached. He reached out… and at a delicate brush found no, his friend was <em>not</em> particularly fixated, but turned inward.</p><p>“Hades,” Hythlodaeus greeted him--no teasing today, it seemed. There was a subtle trepidation to the gentle brush of his soul in greeting-hesitance. Hades responded in kind as he drew up next to Hythlodaeus; <em>everything is fine</em>, he tried to communicate, <em>or as fine as it can be.</em> The trepidation seemed to bleed out of him at that, only a quiet, mournful comfort left.</p><p>“Ys?” The young man next to Hythlodaeus didn’t flinch, emerald eyes distant, his brow creased slightly. “Odysseus,” Hades said, a little louder.</p><p>He blinked and drew out of his hunch, the tight burl of his emotions unwinding in a confusing flurry, unguarded in the moment--grief and uncertainty and reflection and a hundred other things--the <em>feeling</em> of him unfurled like wings of twilight struck through with stars before he remembered himself and curled back into a tightly controlled, <em>polite</em> little ball again. He made a soft, quiet noise somewhere high in his throat, emerald eyes darting over to Hades for just a moment.</p><p>“I didn’t mean to startle you,” Hades said, “but must you be so <em>dramatic</em> about it.” Hades smiled a bit weakly--he wasn’t particularly feeling the jibe just now.</p><p>“How are they holding up?” Hythlodaeus asked.</p><p>“As well as can be expected.” He gestured a bit uselessly with the hand not holding his mask. “There isn’t much I can do for them save make myself available--I’ve volunteered to take on some additional duties, but….” He trailed off, looking down into the streets, crowded with mourners wandering slowly away from the mausoleum.</p><p>“What happens now,” Ys finally asked, gaze cast down at the distant ground, “without Azem?”</p><p>“I don’t know,” Hades admitted, grimacing. Up here they were relatively alone, and he let loose some of his uncertainty. “I only met her once, but her reports informed nearly every action we took. And she--” This time he gestured a bit helplessly with his mask, and the white on red caught his eye for a moment. It set him apart from them, and he wondered if it was right to voice his fears--but he remembered the feeling of watching Elidibus straighten Azem’s hair, and he knew he couldn’t be apart from either of them. “She touched many lives, directly and indirectly. I know the rest of the Convocation weighed her opinions heavily, perhaps moreso than anyone else’s."</p><p>“Will they replace her, as they did your predecessor?” Hythlodaeus asked.</p><p>“One would assume so.” He sighed--those deliberations would come soon, candidates set forth--as they must. “I do not envy the individual who next bears the mantle of Azem.”</p><p>“She wasn’t merely a compass for us in Amaurot,” Ys said, voice distant as his gaze. “They’ll be hard pressed to find someone like her.”</p><p>“Indeed. Her foreign mourners speak well enough of how beloved she was elsewhere….” He dreaded this, in some ways, because Azem had <em>meant</em> something to Ys. He’d needed her, once, and she’d been there, like an avenging angel, like the grand hero she was. “That reminds me,” Hades added, folding both hands over his mask in front of him. “I saw your friend amongst the mourners--Taliesin. He wasn’t with a delegation, though, he--” Ys shot off like a bolt, on his feet and running for the lift, only hastily affixing his mask at the last moment.</p><p>Hythlodaeus laughed softly, shoulders shaking. “Ah--do you think he realizes?”</p><p>“Not in the slightest,” Hades answered, grinning, and he dropped down next to Hythlodaeus at the edge of the building, scooting as far as he dared. He felt particularly fragile today, all things considered, and did not share in their daring just this moment. “Let him chase what happiness he may, while he still can--stars know he hasn’t had enough of it.” Still he felt a little twinge of resentment--he himself would be happier with Ys here, with them. The man hardly needed protecting, but the day’s events and that reminder of a time when he had set him on edge.</p><p>Hythlodaeus leaned against him, shoulder to shoulder, just a gentle pressure, and practically <em>oozed</em> a sense of comfort, his own unease, little fragments of his own fears and wants laid bare. “He’ll be fine,” Hythlodaeus insisted.</p><p>“The whole world thought <em>Azem</em> would be fine, that she was untouchable,” Hades countered, sighing once more. He flipped his mask over in his hands, rubbing his thumbs over the edges. “I wonder how many times she feared she might not be, what her last moments were like. And I don’t want to wonder that about anyone else--least of all either of you.”</p><p>“<em>We’ll</em> be fine,” Hythlodaeus said, leaning into him a little harder, as if he could <em>push</em> that reassurance through his thick skull. “So long as we have each other.”</p>
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